


to make the flowers grow

by prisonernumbersix



Category: Figure Skating RPF, Olympics RPF
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-14 02:55:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14126568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prisonernumbersix/pseuds/prisonernumbersix
Summary: A series of drabbles, prompts, and scenes about Tessa and Scott. Some angst, some romance, some childhood antics, no smut (sorry boiz), but a whole bunch of fluff.





	1. pants on fire

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm not the best a creative writing, and can never seem to come up with entire plot-lines, but sometimes I'll come up with short conversations, scenes, prompts, or thoughts. I wrote them down because why not. If anyone wants to steal my ideas and run with them, go for it. Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tessa and Scott and how they feel about their very scripted interviews.

The lying was what he hated most.

 

Sure it was fun at first. They used to clamber into the back of an Uber after interviews, mocking their own answers between fits of giggles, his thumb stroking idly over her knuckles until they pulled up in front of her apartment—it was always her apartment first, regardless of who’s was closer—and she said goodnight with a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek.

 

Sure it was fun at first, but it was also exhausting. He knew they couldn’t keep dodging around questions for long. People would get restless, they’d need to come to a yes or a no, and Scott was pretty sure he knew which it would be.

 

Nonetheless, it hurt when she told him.

 

The lying was what she hated most.

 

She lied all the time. Little white lies:

_“Of course I remember you from our meet and greet in Toronto”_

_“Oh no, we’re such great friends with all of our training partners at Gadbois. They’re our inspirations”_

_“We never fight. Never.”_

 

But still she found it so hard. She could tell when the question was coming. The interviewer. The re-crossing of legs. The leaning in. The sharp intake of breath. The long drawn out “soooo…” before a tornado of words about chemistry and twenty years all culminating in the swirling crescendo of “ _are_ you guys a couple?”

 

She knew she was terrible at it. Over-eager to rush through the answer, she would sprint through her answer, stopping to emphasize random words when she realized how scripted she sounded. She knew she had tells for when she had carefully taped notecards to her bathroom mirror, rehearsing her purple-inked answers. But she hardly noticed when she didn’t glance to her left and say “well” while she gathered her words in preparation of an unscripted answer, she didn’t stall with a series of “…you know”s while her brain rifled through a list of SAT vocabulary stored in her mind, not daring to glance at Scott, lest she get lost in his eyes. Lest, God forbid, the hurt that her words had instilled there cause her to tell the truth.


	2. he hung the moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tessa starts to fall out of love

_He’s just a passionate guy_. She thought when he slumped against her door, heavy shoulders sending a loud THUD reverberating throughout her empty apartment.

 

_He’s not that wasted_. She reassured herself when she swung open the door to find him swaying precariously on her “bienvenue” doormat, one eye swollen shut, a smattering of purple-brown already starting to work its way around his cheek and up to his brow-bone.

 

_He would never lie to me_. She chided when he had tried to explain away the bruises with an incoherent story about Patrick Chan and a hockey puck.

 

_At least he’s making an effort_. She reminded herself when he forced himself through each word, brows furrowed in concentration, over-annunciating each word, desperately trying not to let himself slur.

 

Yet every time he said he was “just going for a couple brewkis with the boys” she felt her stomach drop a little lower. Every time he missed one of their Thursday coffee dates citing a late night and a hangover, she felt her emotional shield grow a little stronger. And with every lie she told herself, she could see the moon that she once thought he hung glow a little dimmer.


	3. to say yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tessa contemplates Scott's proposal.

She knew it was coming at some point. Maybe just not so soon. It’s not that she didn’t want it to happen. She did. She really really did. But they were only one month out from their fifth Olympic medals. They had only just agreed that a solid “no” was the way to go with the dating question (she had said it in French, no one could tell she was lying if it was in French, not even herself). Not to mention she was dead tired from the twenty-four-hour journey to Japan and felt bloated as shit from the crappy airplane food. And, now that she thought of it, that café misto on an empty stomach was a really bad call—she really had to take a dump.

 

They never had an official discussion on the subject of what ‘they’ were. He had just seemed to slowly assume a new role in her life. Something that wasn’t quite, fuck buddy, wasn’t quite boyfriend, wasn’t quite business partner, wasn’t quite best friend. She was pretty sure from the way he held her at practices, from the way he hugged her so hard it hurt, from the way he needed her approval on everything from an outfit to his evening plans, that if they did ever get around to ‘the talk’ his definition of ‘us’ would be quite different from hers.

 

Breathing out, Tessa closed her eyes, cherry blossoms swirled around her, falling to the ground like the tears slipping out from beneath her fluttering lashes. She gazed at him through the curtain of petals, deep brown eyes flecked with gold, peering up into emerald green. The expression on his face was hopeful, just a boy with a dream. The same way he had looked before their first Olympics, the same spark that had been missing from his eyes during their second.

 

People always say that your life flashes before your eyes during near death experiences. So, in a way, it makes sense that—as this could very possibly be the end of their life together—all the moments that she’s spent with the man who knelt before her. All the triumphs, the gold medals, the Olympic podiums, the national titles of course. But this joy is quickly chased away by a stampede of doubts, the too thins, the not thin enoughs, the too smalls, the too slows, the accusations of fake, liar, home-wrecker. So many, too many times, they had been told no, maybe, she thought, maybe this time, just once, she would tell him yes.


	4. a goddamn prodigy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to stop doing chapter summaries, these things are so short that they don't really need them.

Skating was hard. But Tessa worked harder.

 

She always pretended not to care, just in case she stopped. Mentioning to Scott in a monotone that she’d gotten an offer from the national ballet. She’d turned it down because “she didn’t feel like it.” No other reason none at all.

 

She knew what people said about the two of them around the rink. She was the one who was “cute, but I don’t know how much longer she can do this. If she keeps growing like a weed, she’ll be taller than Scotty before we know it, eh?”

 

Scott was a different story. Scott was “a goddamn prodigy.” To be completely honest, Tessa wasn’t sure what _goddamn_ meant, other than the fact that it was something she wasn’t supposed to say. To be completely honest, Tessa wasn’t sure what _prodigy_ meant either, but she was allowed to say that word, so it must be something good.

 

Tessa pretended not to care, but nonetheless, it hurt when Scott would come up to her on what seemed like a weekly basis and said “my mom wants me to try skating with Sarah (or Kaytlin, or Emma, or Jessica, or Bonnie)”.

 

Tessa pretended not to care, but nonetheless, she didn’t do anything to prevent the smug expression from spreading across her face when he told her “but I said that if she wanted to find me a new skating partner, I would rather just do hockey.”


	5. birds singing in the sycamore tree

Media was, well, how could she phrase it…? Hard. The hours spent lying awake, brain unable to cease its racing through an endless stream of verbiage, seeking answers to compile for interviews that might never even happen. To Tessa, each new interview felt like the first day of school, but instead of just _thinking_ that everyone’s staring at you the whole time, everyone _is_ staring at you the whole time. You have to get everything right on the first try. Your shirt can’t clash with your shoes, your patterns can’t be too bold, oh… and you have to pick out an outfit for the literal buffoon who would perch beside her during nearly every interview, a little too close yet not close enough at the same time.

 

Honestly, having Scott there during interviews stressed her the fuck out. Well… it stressed her the fuck out until he wasn’t there anymore. When he was there, she was constantly on edge. With each unscripted word that tumbled from his lips, she could feel another muscle clench, and another wave of nausea would pass over her. But when he wasn’t there, he would find herself missing how with just a peak into the milk chocolate pools of his eyes, she would regain her confidence. She missed how he’d pat her leg, reassuring her when they got asked about how they felt about being in second place. And—although she hated to admit it—she especially missed the way he’d sing her praises, saying that the entirety of the success of their career could be attributed to her and her alone.

 

Tessa had always found it difficult to compliment people to their faces. It wasn’t that she didn’t find anything to admire in others, she did. But it always made her a little uncomfortable to let down that emotional wall and admit: _I like something about you._ She knew that no one else thought of it this way, but sometimes it felt like complimenting someone was equivalent to admitting to them that she was insecure, that there were aspects of her life, her body, her personality that she wanted to improve. And as a figure skater, but more importantly as a woman, she couldn’t have anything, no matter how diminutive chipping away at the wall of confidence that she had so arduously constructed around herself. When she wasn’t actually face to face with someone, when she wasn’t actually bearing her soul before them, admitting her defeat in her quest for a perfect image, the compliments would slip off her tongue a little more easily. Almost too easily.

 

Maybe she actually was in love as the world seemed to think she was, maybe it was just the pent up lack of praise for her ice dance partner of twenty years, but when Scott wasn’t by her side, she’d feel herself letting go of all her sentiments in a rush of admiration, until after spitting forth a million attempts at incoherent ways in which to describe Scott she’d just settle on something cryptic yet tastefully poetic: _He’s exactly what you think he is_.

 

Tessa Virtue had spent years perfecting her image. Hours in front of the mirror, practicing a genuine smile; decades studying vocabulary, tripling the number of syllables in each of her sentences; ages in her closet, searching for a pair of shoes that screamed _powerful yet feminine_ and then for a blouse that would complement both her eyes and her shoes. Tessa Virtue had spent years working on her relationship, only for a couple of complete strangers on the internet to tear right through her walls and claw their way right to her soul.

 

Honestly, Tessa wasn’t quite sure if she was being totally truthful when she said that she took it as a compliment that people were so invested in her in Scott’s careers—well, in their relationship really. Being invested was a compliment, yes, but calling her a robot that had malfunctioned, a lovesick kitten trying to maintain the façade of a platonic relationship but crumbling whenever she was (or wasn’t) asked about Scott, an ice queen, too proud to admit to herself how far gone she was for the boy with the goofy grin who was just doing this so he could get better at hockey; well these things, they hurt. They hurt because her hard work, her self-taught media training had all been for nothing. They hurt because twenty years spent in frigid rinks all culminating in five Olympic medals all paled in comparison to the way that two people just _looked_ at each other. But more than that, they hurt because deep down, beneath all the competition makeup, the hairspray, the sequins, the gracious smile, the diplomatic answered, she knew that these things were true.


	6. and quite honestly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend for this to be about Tessa and Scott being (or not being) together, but, well... I had to do it to 'em.

A list of things that people get right about Tessa Virtue:

  1. _The snooping_. Oh yes, she knows what goes on in the inner workings of the internet. Hiding behind the façade of an anonymous floral aesthetic tumblr, she lurks. She checks the #virtuemoir tag on twitter almost too often. Honestly, she feels like it’s become an addiction (tolerance and withdrawal). She’s even read some of the little stories people have made up about her and Scott. They’re sweet and innocent…for the most part.
  2. _The apparent lack of emotion_. To be quite honest, this one hurts her a bit (Ha! Hurt! She _does_ feel emotions after all). She usually tries to play if off as feminism. That she, the women of the duo, is meant to be the more emotional one, but, by being the diplomatic academician between her and Scott, she’s taking a stand for all women as a powerful yet poised voice for justice. And she is. But, also, to be completely fair, she’s always struggled with emotions. Among her history of injuries, her eons of tormenting coaches, her years of catcalls and marriage proposals from strangers, keeping her emotions hidden felt like a security blanket of sorts. The one thing that was just hers. She did _feel_ things though. I mean, she felt something when they won the individual ice dance in Pyeongchang. But, then again, she wasn’t exactly sure what she _was_ It was just a deep something, that bubbled up from the pit of her stomach, forcing a lump into her throat and a smile onto her face. It must have been happiness. You’re meant to feel happiness when you win an Olympic gold medal, right? But it wasn’t the same kind of happiness that she felt when the snow melted in short Canadian spring, revealing crocuses and shoots of emerald grass. It wasn’t the same kind of happiness that she felt when she got to sleep in, and spend the morning buried in a book, with a steaming mug of coffee clutched in her hands. It was the kind of happiness where what she really wanted was to just go back to her hotel room and sob uncontrollably for a couple hours.
  3. _She is completely and utterly in love with Scott Moir._



 

A list of things that people got wrong about Tessa Virtue:

  1. _She does not use protracted verbiage in her everyday conversations._ This one, she was ashamed to admit, she really only knew from the little, erm, dribbles? she thinks people calling that people write about her (and usually Scott). It seems that people think she’s really smart or something? Honestly it is kind of a compliment. But, in reality she doesn’t say things like “you’ve sullied my image” or “oh Scott, I do reciprocate your declaration of affection”. No one does. But if people think she does say those things, she supposes it means that the image of confidence, poise, and really-knowing-what-the-fuck-she’s-talking-about that she’s trying to portray in interviews is working.
  2. _She doesn’t yell._ Another thing that she’s learned from these dribbles—no maybe, it’s prattles, then? Anyway, she’s learned that people think she can fly into these fits of rage or jealousy just out of the blue. Sure, she gets mad, she wants to punch things, to scream even, but she doesn’t. If Scott is to be the voice of passion, then she must be the voice of reason in their partnership. She’ll often feel her throat constrict. Her cheeks will burn. But no one would be able to tell. Only her closest friends, well… friend, could tell when her voice gets an edge to it, breaking at the end of long winded sentences. Only in her eyes, their brilliant emerald taking on a dangerous grey gleam can he ever see how upset she is.
  3. _She does not hate Gabriella Papadakis._ I mean, as a person, she guesses. Civil, is probably a good way to describe their relationship. In the private of her own home, in texted conversations to her closest friends, maybe she’ll bitch about how much she hates what the French team stands for. How what they do is not what ice dance is meant to be. How if they want to ever be the greatest ice dancers of all time, they’re going about it all wrong. How she knows after each and every competition, monitoring session, and official assessment how robbed she and Scott are, how simply being able to balance on one foot for a few seconds shouldn’t be awarded above intricate step sequences, twizzles that rocket down the ice like a bullet, and…well, passion. But she would never say anything cruel to Gabi’s face. That’s just not how competing works. You’re friends with your competitors in every sense of the definition, but it’s a really exciting friendship because, well, deep down, you kind of want to kill them.
  4. _She never calls Scott ‘Scotty’._ The thought of doing so just doesn’t sit right with her. And quite honestly, it probably wouldn’t sit well with Scott either if she just showed up at the rink one day and shouted “Hey Scotty-boy, what’s crackilackin?” across the ice at him. She doesn’t know Scott like that. It’s sort of like, when you first meet Scott, he’s Scott. Formal, all ill-fitting suits and failed attempts at slicked back hair. When you get to know Scott, he’s Scotty. Yelling at hockey games and singing too loudly at bars, surrounded by a gang of friends and cousins. But when you know Scott, as well as Tessa does…well, he’s just Scott.
  5. _She is completely and utterly in love with Scott Moir._




	7. and then there was the truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something short and sweet for busy mondays :)  
> (less than 100 words so not even a true drabble. yikes.)

Whenever somebody asked the great Scott Moir just how he got so good at ice skating, he had three answers. The first was a good answer, the second was—for lack of a better word—bad, and the third… well the third was the one that was actually the truth.

 

The good was three words long: _inspiration, motivation, perspiration_

The bad was just one: _spite_

 

And then there was the truth: _Tessa Virtue_


	8. all croissants aside...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really proofread, so sorry for weird tense changes. Anywho, carry on!

_She’s just a girl._  

Sometimes she wants to scream it at the top of her lungs. But she doesn’t. That’s not what _normal_ people do. But, then again, Tessa Virtue was not normal by almost every definition of the word. For now, for the next year maybe, she knows she’ll get a hollow satisfaction from the opportunities that skating has brought her. The fast-paced, world-traveler lifestyle, strutting off of airplanes wearing pantsuits of her own design, is fantastic and all, but it’s not really _her_. It’s another job. The next step after the curtains on her competitive skating career have swished shut. It’s just the next character she has to portray.

When Tessa was younger, she loved to play dress-up. She dreamed that one day, she would _be_ one of those classy sassy ladies that she and Jordan used to saunter around their living room imitating. But the thing about dress-up was that in an instant she could snap back to real life. Still enrobed in her mother’s rejected wardrobe, she could prance into the kitchen and sink her teeth into an honest-to-goodness grilled cheese (none of this crôque monsieur bullshit) and giggle as her mother tried fruitlessly to prevent the grease from dripping onto her hand-me-down blazer. No, this wasn’t dress up, this was her life, her dream-life. Or so everyone thought.

But all fresh-baked croissants and Japanese café mistos aside, what Tessa really wanted was normalcy. She wanted, just for a moment, to step out of one of these goddamn roles that she kept having to portray. To run away from all the praise of her apparent shadiness, from the title of ice queen—or ice kween as she had seen it written once or twice, from this perfectly instagrammable life that she had somehow adopted. She wanted people to stop saying that Scott was more in love with her than she was with him. She wanted to go to Tim Horton’s every morning and be able to ask for _the regular_ without the employees having to think twice. She wanted everyone in town to know her name, not because she was an international superstar, but because of that one time she had let them borrow an egg, or had helped shovel their driveway. She wanted a dog that she’d actually have time to take care of. She wanted normal. She wanted boring. And sometimes, only sometimes, she really just wanted to be forgotten.


	9. fraying dangerously

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to make this a full fic, but I got lazy. I'll get there eventually...maybe

Tessa Virtue never bought new skates. She sort of figured she wouldn’t need to. She had gotten the blades replaced in August of 2018. In part because they legitimately couldn’t hold an edge anymore, regardless of how sharp she requested them to be made; but another part of the new blades was a promise to Marie-France, to Patch, to Scott that she’d keep skating; an RSVP to a standing invitation back to the manufactured cold of the rink.

 

But the boots, those were the same. The same worn leather, wrapped tight in plastic tape, the laces fraying dangerously. The scuff marks that were splattered across the once-clean surface of the leather were like a sharp alter-ego to the faint grey marks that those skates used to etch into the surface of the ice. Black marks standing and peeling leather, all that was left of twenty years of kicks from toe-picks and black-painted soles.

 

Perhaps she kept them as a reminder to herself. Because unlike the medals, they had been with her through trials and tribulations, they weren’t the reward at the end of the day, they were the entire journey of two years summed up in two worn boots. Because unlike the interviews they showed the work, not the _how do you feel in this moment_ not the _the chemistry is part of our job_ but the sweat and the grit and the grime that it took to become an Olympic athlete.

 

It had been years and they still sat in the hallway, the tattered shell of the same black suitcase that she had been housing them in for what felt like decades, shouting in an ugly contrast to her pristine white walls. Black on white, a reminder that those two broken down pieces of leather were essentially worthless without their black counterparts. Dirty on clean, all that was left of the boyish grin that used to whisper roughly into her ear and chewed fingernails that used to clutch desperately at her hands as if he was trying to suck her soul out of through her fingertips and breathe life into her at the same time.

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by the song "A Little Fall of Rain" from Les Misérables


End file.
